


Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Fears and Uncertainly About the Future, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 09:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30137328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter is suddenly experiencing a health crisis. He tries to ignore it, but it’s just not going away. He’s trying to keep things under wraps, but as we all know, nobody can keep a secret from a certain con man. For once, the tables are turned when Neal becomes the voice of reason.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

The first time it happened was on the streets of the Lower East Side. Peter and Neal had gone to confront some low life they suspected was forging passports and green cards. When they accosted him in his hideaway workshop, the guy freaked and took off like a shot, causing Peter and his CI to give chase down alleyways that wove in and out of the neighborhood. Peter felt his heart pounding in his chest in time to the slap of his shoes on the sidewalk. He was driving himself hard and sweating profusely, just trying to keep up. However, his body had other ideas and wasn’t cooperating. Even his labored panting wasn’t helping to get enough oxygen to his brain, and he was suddenly feeling lightheaded. Peter chugged to a halt and bent over with his hands on his knees, waiting for the world to stop spinning. It was only Neal’s urgent voice that got his attention minutes later.

“He jumped in a taxi, but I got the cab medallion and the number!” Neal told his partner. “If you call NYPD, they can probably run the guy down and make an arrest.”

“Good work, Neal,” Peter said thickly as he pulled out his phone.

“You were a little slow out of the starting gate, old man,” Neal teased.

“Yeah, I’m definitely out of shape,” Peter agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The second time it happened, Peter wasn’t running anywhere. He was simply trudging up the steps in his townhouse at the end of a long, stressful day at the office. He had consumed gallons of coffee while pouring over the financial records of a suspected art smuggler that White Collar had in their crosshairs. Without warning, the effort of putting one foot in front of the other seemed a monumental task, and his legs were seizing up like pistons without enough lubricating oil. He was again a bit lightheaded, so he sat down on a step midway in his ascent. Damn, he really was out of shape. Spending most of his days behind a desk was taking its toll on his body, so he needed a plan. He’d start eating healthier and this weekend he’d start jogging.

Peter started out slow in his new health regimen. He trotted leisurely through his Brooklyn neighborhood and had absolutely no recurrence of his previous symptoms. He had a plan with the best on intentions, and he resolved to take it slow and moderately increase the pace and distance each time he went out. However, his workout sessions became half-hearted and sporadic because real life always seemed to get in the way. Sometimes that entailed all-night stakeouts in the van, or long hours of brainstorming in the FBI conference room. It was after one of these marathon sessions that Neal became aware of the problem.

It was after midnight when the White Collar team began to disperse for home after a grueling meeting of FBI minds. They had been plotting the take down of a team of nefarious criminals putting beautiful young women out on the street as high-end escorts with benefits. Their johns then became victims of blackmail. Apparently, some people in high places were feeling the heat, and they had finally reported being marks.

Peter had offered to drive Neal home, and had gotten behind the wheel while trying to stifle a yawn. Neal had climbed into the passenger seat, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The rhythm of the tires on the asphalt was soothing for the con man until he realized that Peter had come to a stop. Neal thought he had dozed off and they had reached Riverside Drive, but that wasn’t the case. When he looked out the window, he saw that Peter had pulled to the curb just a few blocks from the Federal Building.

“What’s going on, Buddy?” he asked in confusion.

“Maybe you should drive, Neal,” Peter whispered. “I’m not feeling well right now.”

Neal quickly reached up to turn on the dome light and became concerned. “Peter, your color is pasty and you look like you’re struggling to breathe. Are you having pain, pressure, or tightness in your chest, arm, or jaw? You could be having a coronary?” he added in alarm.

“Just give me a minute—it’ll pass. It usually does,” Peter insisted.

“So, this isn’t something new?—it’s happened before!” Neal asked in a shocked tone.

“Maybe a couple of times, and it’s probably because I’m out of shape and getting too old for burning the candle at both ends,” was the lame excuse Peter offered.

“Well, explain to me _exactly_ what happened during those _couple_ of times,” Neal said sternly.

“Look, Buddy, I’m already feeling a bit better, so can we just drop it,” Peter growled.

“Nope—not happening. If you don’t come clean with me, I’m calling an ambulance and you can explain to the EMTs why you look like a wet dishrag,” Neal threatened.

Now it was Peter who was laying his head back and closing his eyes. He had to get a handle on this thing before Neal carried through on his promise.

“Look, Buddy, this is probably no big deal. Sometimes, I find myself getting short of breath and lightheaded. I think it’s my body’s way of telling that I’m not as young as I used to be. I can’t link it to a specific activity. Sometimes it’s when I’m active, but other times it just comes on when I’m sitting quietly. I’ve never actually passed out, and eventually things get back to normal. When it suddenly came on tonight, I just didn’t want to take any chances while I’m driving. If you don’t want to take the wheel, we can just sit until it runs its course.”

“Have you seen a doctor about this phenomenon that seems to come and go at random?” Neal next asked.

“Neal …” Peter groaned.

“Well, have you?” Neal persisted.

Peter huffed. “Seeing a doctor is going to be a crapshoot. What are the odds this thing will happen while I’m sitting in his office. In my experience, it’s like when your car keeps making a funny noise that immediately disappears when you finally take it to a mechanic.”

“I think you’re really afraid that they’ll find something,” Neal said wisely. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Whatever had come on so quickly now ceased as abruptly as it had started. Peter’s breathing became less labored, and he could feel the sweat on his face begin to evaporate in the night air and the leaden feeling in his limbs rapidly lessening. He reached up to turn off the illumination from the dome light so that the car was plunged back into darkness. Maybe it was easier to have this conversation without looking Neal in the face.

“I’ve consistently passed all the yearly Bureau physicals,” he informed his partner.

“But the last one was months ago,” Neal reminded him.

Finally, Peter came clean with someone he trusted with his innermost secrets and fears. “If I am found to have some sort of physical problem that prevents me from doing my job, the Bureau will bench me. No more going out with you in the field. I should be the one protecting you, Neal. I don’t want to hand off that responsibility to anyone else.”

“I can take care of myself, Buddy, just as you should take care of yourself,” Neal replied with concern.

“Neal, I’ve told you this in confidence, and I haven’t even told El about it. I know you can keep a secret, so maybe you’ll just let the status quo continue as it is,” Peter cajoled.

“Maybe keeping secrets isn’t the smartest thing,” Peter’s work partner replied.

“This is coming from someone who’s holding onto more secrets than a confessional in St. Patrick’s cathedral,” Peter snarked.

“Not the same,” Neal insisted, “and stop trying your hand at misdirection. That’s my specialty.”

When Peter remained stubbornly silent, Neal said miserably, “So, I should just watch your back, even if that means you could be putting your own life in danger.”

“Well, how about this,” Peter bargained. “If it happens again, I’ll tell my wife and I’ll see a doctor. You can even come along for the ride. Until then, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This may never recur so it all could become moot.”

“I’m not sure I like your deal,” Neal retorted, even though he knew he would knuckle under and do what Peter asked of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal kept that promise until things took a perilous turn and a non-violent felon on parole was forced to do the unthinkable. A few weeks later, Peter, Neal, Jones, and Diana arrived on the scene of a heist in progress at the First National Credit Union in Manhattan. Two heavily armed thieves had chosen to scatter in different directions when they hit the streets. Jones and Diana peeled off to pursue one perpetrator, while Peter and Neal had the other in their crosshairs, eventually boxing him into a blind alley. Peter had his Glock out and was shouting for the thief hunkered down behind a dumpster to surrender. Neal was hugging the wall on the other side of the alley watching the standoff unfold.

The idiot behind the dumpster decided to go for broke and made a run at them, gun in hand. Peter stood up tall and took careful aim, but then he seemed to suddenly lose his grip on his Glock, causing it to fall from his now lax hand and skitter across the cement in Neal’s direction. The FBI Agent was falling as well, or rather slowly collapsing to the ground in a heap. This unexpected turn of events gave the criminal perpetrator the perfect opportunity to end this and make his getaway. He slid to a stop beside Peter’s prone form and carefully raised his sidearm.

Neal reacted without thinking. Like a nimble acrobat, he immediately launched into a flying body roll, grabbed Peter’s fallen weapon, and took aim. A second later, a would-be killer was screaming in pain as he cradled his shattered wrist against his body. It was just at that minute that Diana rounded the corner. She had left Jones to do the honors of placing their perp in handcuffs and loading him into their FBI ride. Now she found herself trying to make sense of another scene. She quickly took stock of the situation, kicking the thief’s gun far back into the alley and then applying handcuffs, even though the assailant was howling and bleeding around the metal bracelets. All that Diana saw was a fallen agent, and she quickly concluded that this creep had shot Peter. So the bastard could bleed out, for all she cared.

She quickly knelt down beside her boss, who was slowly beginning to move. “Where are you hit, Peter?” she kept asking as she shoved his coat open to look for a wound.

When he failed to answer, Neal spoke up. “I don’t think he’s been shot, Diana.”

“Well, then what the hell happened, and why are you holding onto Peter’s gun? I’m assuming you’re the one who shot that dude I just hogtied.”

By then, Peter was back among the living. “Diana, I know what this scenario looks like,” he whispered.

“Yeah, it looks like a criminal on parole, who’s supposed to be a non-violent offender, just used a firearm to shoot somebody. That’s going to screw up his deal, big time,” the female agent said quietly.

“So maybe we can change the scenario,” Peter said hopefully as he sat up slowly and took some deep breaths. “I may have slipped and hit my head causing me to temporarily black out. Neal did what he did to save my life. But you’re right. OPR will open an investigation and Neal’s freedom may be put in jeopardy because of my stupid clumsiness.”

Diana was quick on the uptake. “So, when we write this up, we say that you shot the perp, not Neal. If the crying jerk over there says otherwise, nobody’s going to take him at his word.”

“If that’s how it gets written up, would you have an issue?” Peter asked as he got to his feet.

“Nah. If Neal got jammed up, I’d miss an irritating but entertaining teammate back at the office,” she answered with a grin.

~~~~~~~~~~

At Neal’s obnoxious and nagging insistence, Peter Burke made an appointment with a specialist the very next day. He also offered up a belated confession to his wife. It didn’t take very long for Peter to get a diagnosis. After a cardiologist had ordered a battery of tests and studied the results, the practitioner sat down with his patient and the patient’s wife to explain just what was happening.

“Peter, you were experiencing what we call episodes of supraventricular tachycardia, or SVT, for less of a mouthful. Tachycardia simply means that, at times, your heart was beating at a rate of 100 times per minute or faster, which is outside normal parameters. Most males your age should have a rate between 60-80 beats per minute.

You have described to me quite classic symptoms: shortness of breath, paleness, sweating, dizziness, weakness in the extremities, and even an episode of fainting. SVT may come and go suddenly, with stretches of normal heart rhythms in between. It is most commonly manifested in people who have reached middle age. Symptoms may last anywhere from a few minutes to a few days, and some people have no symptoms at all. It is generally non-life threatening unless there are concurrent heart anomalies in existence.”

“Can you tell me what causes it?” Peter asked.

“Sometimes the cause is idiopathic, meaning we can’t put our finger on why the heart’s electrical conduction system suddenly goes into overdrive. We do know that something called the AV node, which is a small cluster of cells located between the atria and the ventricles of the heart, suddenly become overzealous. In your particular case, we’ve noted an atypical overgrowth in that node, probably something you were born with. What we refer to as a natural pacemaker in the heart has suddenly become irritable, maybe as a result of something as simple as a flu bug or virus.”

“Well, is there some medication I could take to make it stop happening?” Peter asked hopefully. “In my job, sometimes I find myself in dangerous situations where I have to stay sharp so that I can react quickly and appropriately.”

The physician shrugged. “I’d rather not go the route of introducing a medication into the mix, because all drugs come with their own set of side effects. Perhaps we should start by having you try to manage what may be triggers for you. Those could be things such as fatigue, stress, caffeine, alcohol, smoking, even over-the-counter medications for colds and allergies. And if you do experience future episodes, there are tricks of the trade to deal with them and repolarize the heart into normalcy. Don’t laugh, but one method is sticking your face into a bowl of ice water, which sets off something called the mammalian diving reflex. That’s Mother Nature’s way of causing vasoconstriction and a slower heart rate to protect a victim in a life and death situation like drowning.”

“Honestly, Doctor, I can’t see myself pausing in the apprehension of a criminal to do a face plant into a slushie from a bodega,” Peter replied unhappily.

The doctor laughed. “I get your point. I forgot you were an FBI agent. There may be one other option,” he said slowly. “It’s a procedure called a catheter ablation. That entails me introducing a narrow tube into an artery of your leg or groin and then carefully threading it up and into your heart muscle. The catheter will be recording the heart’s electrical impulses so that I can zero in on the problematic area. When I get my sights on it, I’ll gently zap it with a burst of heat. It’s quite a precise procedure and the surrounding heart muscle won’t be affected. There are no side effects, and you can go home within hours as long as you take it easy and monitor a small dressing for signs of bleeding.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Peter quickly agreed. “How soon can you arrange it?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure about this, Peter?” Elizabeth asked softly later that evening in their marital bed.

“It sounds fairly simple, and a lot less costly than a heart transplant,” he joked to lighten the tension in the air.

“This is serious,” El insisted, “and I can’t believe you kept this from me for so long. What if it happened while you were on a case?”

“It did,” Peter said sheepishly, “but Neal took care of business.”

“Neal knew all about this but you didn’t tell me and neither did he?” a wife was suddenly on the offensive. “That’s really hurtful!”

“In Neal’s defense, he only found out recently, and he’s the one who insisted that I tell you and get help. I never thought I’d see the day that Neal Caffrey would narc on anybody and play the heavy in a scene.”

“Well, maybe I’ll forgive him—and you—in time,” El pretended to pout. “But, Hon, I married you for better or worse, in sickness and in health. Remember those vows?”

“I’m sorry,” was the only pitiful excuse Peter could come up with.

“I think I get it,” El remarked after a long lull of silence. “Big, sturdy, and dependable Peter Burke has a hard time admitting that he has a flaw, even though all of us have flaws, some worse than others. Peter, we all have to live with lives that aren’t perfect, so we make the best of it.”

“But my flaw has ramifications. This thing that pops up sporadically could cost me my job, or, at the very least, get me transferred to some dull and boring desk jockey position. I’m more of a boots on the ground kinda guy.”

“I think there’s another reason this has rocked your world, Hon. You’re a natural guardian, and you think that a chink in your armor will make you less effective protecting those whom you care about. Am I getting warm?”

“El, I should be the one to take care of myself. I shouldn’t expect other people to take care of me,” Peter admitted, not daring to alarm his wife by telling her that his young CI had literally saved him from taking a bullet.

“What’s Neal got to say about this?” El whispered. “I assume you’ve told him everything.”

“He says that it’s my decision to make and he’s not offering an opinion.”

“I know this is a terrible thing to say, but is he worried about his own future if you didn’t have the surgery and got transferred out of the White Collar Unit?”

“Neal can take care of himself, no matter who might become his handler if I have to stand down.”

El was less than pacified by that answer. She was aware of the bond two diverse men shared. “And I think you’re worried that he could take off again if you’re not there to give him a reason to stay.”

“There is that,” Peter admitted.

“Peter, you do realize that one day Neal’s parole will end, the leash will be cut, and he’ll be free to leave the nest and fly away—possibly far away,” Elizabeth said softly.

“And that will be a good thing, but choosing to escape before his four years are up is definitely not good,” Peter said honestly.

“Maybe he’ll think it’s worth a shot because you won’t be the one chasing him again,” El replied, playing devil’s advocate.

“Right, because I’m on disability, or something akin to it. El, that’s not the way I want my future to go. I want the opportunity to keep doing what I’m doing, at peak capacity, for as long as I can. Don’t put the blame on Neal as a scapegoat for the decision that I’ve made.”

“Peter, you’re breaking my heart,” El said with fearful tears in her eyes.

“C’mon, Hon,” Peter cajoled, “don’t you go breaking my heart by worrying. I’ll be fine—you’ll see.”

“You do realize we could sing that Elton John song as a duet,” El teased.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, I guess we could. Can I tell Neal that he can keep you company during my procedure at the hospital later this week?”

“Yeah, I’d love his comforting support,” Elizabeth answered. “When you’re not around, he’s my rock, although he never needs to know that.”

“Right, it would give him even more leverage against me,” Peter agreed with a grin.

In a couple of days, Peter figured that either his problem would be solved, or it wouldn’t. In the meantime, he had two devoted people who worried and cared about him, so that made everything right in his world.

**Author's Note:**

> “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” was a pop song sung by Elton John and Kiki Dee in 1976.


End file.
